


In a Princedom by the Sea

by ksd43



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Post-Season/Series Finale, Road Trips, Sexual Content, Will Graham-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksd43/pseuds/ksd43
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After falling, Will decides he will escape with Hannibal.  On their journey south, he is confronted with his feelings for Hannibal, and the direction of their relationship.  (Inspired by the end of Thomas Harris' Hannibal)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Alana looked up at him from her book. She smiled._

_“Hi Will. How are you today?”_

_“Rushed. I have to pick up Abigail in an hour.”_

_“Okay, we’ll work quickly. What did you think of the book?”_

_“I liked it, I thought it was interesting and sad. I’m not sure I understand the deeper meanings the instructor is getting at.”_

_“Well, what patterns did you notice throughout the book?”_

_Will shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess Hemingway talks a lot about pain.”_

_Alana nodded. “And why is pain important?”_

_“Pain helps separate the fake from the real.”_

*** 

Cicadas buzzed from the tree outside the window. Their songs bounced around the room, escalating into a raucous chorus. Bells tolled from the church down the road.

Will watched the ceiling fan circle above him. It made a comforting thrum. 

The back of his neck was damp. He sat on the edge of the bed and wiped the sweat from his hairline. 

A mirror across from the bed allowed him to stare at himself. He had avoided mirrors for so long it was strange to see his form. Ample time in the sun had left his nose and shoulders freckled. A thick scar reached down his right cheek. He was clean shaven and his hair was close to the scalp. 

He wondered if it was another person sitting across from him. If he reached into the mirror, would that person reach for his hand?

He could smell animal fat crisping. There were cooking sounds: drawers closing, pots rattling, water running. He found himself standing in the kitchen doorway.

Hannibal had his back turned to Will as he stood over the stove top. He wore a tight-fitting black shirt, the kind he wore during his early morning runs. A towel was slung over his left shoulder.

On the floor Dulce sat patiently. She was a 10 week old puppy, round in belly but growing longer in limb. She had the square jaw and smooth, caramel coat of a pit bull. Will had found her two weeks ago, digging through a trash pile near the street. He picked her up without hesitation. Hannibal had been less welcoming, but Will had spotted him throwing scraps to her from the kitchen counter on occasion.

A piece of scrambled egg was tossed to Dulce. She gobbled it up, tail wagging furiously.

“You had the dream again.” Hannibal kept his focus on the skillets in front of him.

“You’re going to make her fat.”

“Fat? No. But I will undoubtedly become her favorite.”

“You already are.”

“Memories are our brain’s way of storing information for future use. What is your brain so desperate for you to hold on to, Will?”

“Hemingway, I guess.”

Hannibal plated their meals. “Hemingway is a staple of higher education. Your dream also features people from our past. Are you struggling with reconciling previous times?”

“I’m always struggling to reconcile something.”

Hannibal turned to him, a plate in each hand, and smiled. “Bon appetit.”

Will thought if he could find one thing that made him as happy as cooking made Hannibal, he would be at peace. 

They sat at the circular table between the kitchen and living room. They ate their breakfast of eggs, mushrooms, and bacon in silence for a few minutes. It was spicy and somehow a little sweet. Will was waiting for the day when Hannibal’s cooking became pedestrian; it hadn’t happened yet.

Dulce squirmed around their feet, whining softly. 

“I can see you’ve been struggling since we arrived. Maybe you should take Dulce to the beach and try to clear your head.”

Will nodded, his head pounding, wanting for his morning espresso. “Yeah, I could try that.”

***

The waves were small but quick and crashing. Dulce wandered around, nervous but determined. She was so curious. 

Will watched her carefully. She approached a wave, stuck a paw in, then retreated back to him. Will laughed and clipped her leash to her collar. Tourists, eager to escape their winters back home, wore floppy hats and spread out on towels. A group of four children approached him.

“Senior,” the tallest girl said in a British accent, “can we, um, pet tu perro?”

Will smiled. “Si.”

They squealed in relief and gathered around Dulce, who bathed their fingers and faces with kisses. They cooed and she cried back. 

“Girls!,” a posh accent rang across the beach, “That’s enough. Come over here.”

The tallest girl looked up at Will. She had hair as black as night but huge blue eyes. “Gracias, senior.” They scampered, shouting in the indiscriminate way that children do.

A pain struck Will deep within. He could feel it radiating from his gut to his heart. The girls ran further away, and the pain grew and grew. 

He thought of Abigail and Walter. And just as quickly as he thought of them, he tucked their faces in the back of his memory. 

He sat in the sand, spreading his toes in the warmth. Closing his eyes, he listened to the ocean. Dulce curled up in his lap. He could feel her heartbeat on his stomach, a tiny reassurance of life.

From his bag he pulled out a worn copy of A Farewell to Arms. He had found it in a motel before leaving the States. He had not read it since college, but he was desperate to fill his mind with something other than his thoughts.

_The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry._

There will be no special hurry.

Will held Dulce close as the waves slowed their retreat from the shore. Many of the tourists had packed their chairs and walked back to the hotels. Only he and a few determined children remained. 

He had not been good, gentle, or brave in a long time. He was broken, and haphazardly reassembled. Blood seeped through the cracks between his parts. 

In his honest moments, he preferred his crooked design. It felt safe to indulge his dark thoughts rather than let them fester under his skin. When he felt the urge, that terrible, staggering urge, he could give voice to it without fear. 

_It’s beautiful._

He looked down at his left hand. His wedding ring glinted in the sunlight.


	2. A Sudden Nothing

_Delaware  
August 2018_

Water rushed up his nose and into his mouth and lungs. The pair of arms that had enveloped him during the fall were pulled away. He was alone, sinking swiftly. His heart strained to pump his chilling blood. The world was roaring and red, then quiet and black. 

The last thing Will knew was death.

His life did not flash before his eyes. He did not think of his father, Mississippi, the FBI, Molly, or Hannibal. He did not have time to regret. Death was a sudden nothing. 

“Will.”

The voice was low, distant. 

“Will.”

A faint recognition. It tugged on him through the darkness.

“Open your eyes.”

He knew only one thing: it was not Hannibal’s voice.

Opening his eyes was strenuous. Light appeared between the lids and sent a searing pain throughout his body. He let out a raspy groan. 

“You’re alright. Keep going.”

Breathing deep, he opened his eyes wider. The room seemed flooded with light. A small blurry figure sat to his left. He blinked, coating his eyes with tears. The room dimmed and came into focus. 

He recognized the woman next to him. He searched for her name in his bleary memory.

“...Chiyoh?”

She nodded. “Good. Do you know where you are?”

He glanced around, trying to ignore the throbbing behind his eyes. Large windows, white walls. Clean lines. A large basil plant in the corner. 

“Hannibal’s house. By the ocean.”

It was only then that he remembered the water, the nothing. The fall and the killing.

“I’m...I’m alive.”

Chiyoh shifted in her seat. “You’re missing a few parts.”

Will looked down to a chest covered in bandages and an IV inserted into his right arm. He tried to raise his right hand to his face. Pain radiated from his shoulder down the entirety of his arm.

“Use your left hand.”

He touched his left fingertips to a bandage across his right cheek. Something felt strange.

“You lost a few molars. You will probably have some numbness there for the rest of your life. And a large scar, of course.”

“What’s in the IV?”

“Morphine and antibiotics.”

“I need more morphine.”

“I want you to see him first.”

Will’s heart suddenly felt like it was in vice. It occurred to him that Hannibal might have died during the plummet. Worse, he might have lived. “How is Hannibal?”

“The bullet took some of his small intestine and he is in pain. But he didn’t lose as much blood as you.”

Will thought about their blood in the moonlight. 

“We both must have needed transfusions.”

“He could donate to you. He had been saving his blood here for emergencies.”

A long time ago Hannibal had asked about his blood type. He thought it was a routine medical question and thought nothing of it. _A positive. Good._ Suddenly Will felt very tired. “Of course. Hannibal, always a step ahead.” 

Chiyoh stood and began removing the tape from Will’s arm. He turned his head away. He was sick of seeing needles. 

He felt a tug, then a peculiar sense of relief. 

“Try standing. Go slowly.”

His legs were cumbersome. The joints refused to cooperate and each bone seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. Chiyoh stood over him, her eyes cutting as she watched. As his feet grazed the floor, he felt an acute lightness. 

He felt weak in front of her and it embarrassed him.

“He’s around the corner.” 

Chiyoh accompanied him to the next room, taking careful steps behind him. Whether she was there to catch him or scrutinize him, he couldn’t tell. 

Hannibal was lying supine in bed, naked torso baring bandages above his pelvis. An IV dripped into his body. His chest showed the smooth, easy rhythm of sleep. 

Fury ran through Will’s veins. _I killed you. I killed you and you saved my life. How are you doing this to me? Why won’t this end?_

He kept his eyes on Hannibal’s face. He had never seen Hannibal be anything less than hypervigilant. It was disquieting to see him defenseless. “Did you operate on him?”

“Yes. When he was a young man I played nurse to his surgeon; he practiced on the pheasants and foxes. I did the best I could. His small intestine is shorter now.”

They stood in silence for a while. 

“You could kill him.”

He turned to look at Chiyoh, who continued to stare at the bed. She cleared her throat and spoke again, her words deliberate. “Increasing the morphine, cutting his throat. Whatever you choose.”

“You’re his family. After all of this, you’re not going to protect him?”

She still refused to meet eyes with Will. “He told me this is what he wanted. If he didn’t die with you, he wanted you to decide. He was very clear.” She began walking away. 

“Whatever you do, do not tell me until after it’s done.” She closed the door behind her.

Will sat on Hannibal’s bed. Hannibal was in the depths of an opioid sleep. It would be easy to give him too much, to watch his chest rise less and less often, until it did so no more.

It would be easy to return home and announce that he had murdered the Dragon and Dr. Lecter. He would be a hero. He could feel Molly’s warm body next to him already, hear Walter playing video games down the hall. He could live the rest of his life being a husband and father, knowing that Hannibal was gone, truly gone, and he would no longer dominate his life.

But Hannibal would always be in his head. There was a viciousness inside of him that Hannibal had unlocked. Through deceit and agony and scarring, he had seen another morality. A world in which society’s rules were overlooked, and individual survival was paramount. He had mutilated bodies and tasted human flesh. He had made a plan to kill someone and gone through with it. He was now a murderer. 

Molly had married a Will Graham that had not existed for several years. Walter already knew that. Children were so perceptive. He would be raised by a man with many secrets and the ever present albatross of Hannibal Lecter around his neck. Will’s father also had an albatross. The ghost of his deceased wife never let him be, and he drank from dawn to dusk to forget that. His father was locked in his head. So was Will.

_It’s beautiful._

Hannibal began making the small movements of lighter sleep, stirring and muttering. He started to grind his teeth. It was curious to see this almost supernatural man with such a habit. 

If Will was going to give him a merciful death, it had to be done soon.


	3. Liberation

“Good morning, Will.”

That voice. It reverberated through his skull, pulling on each nerve.

Will opened his eyes and saw the ceiling above him. He sat upright to see that he had fallen asleep on Hannibal’s bed. 

They made eye contact for the first time since falling. Hannibal’s eyes were dull; the whites were marked with red vessels. 

Hannibal smiled. “I’m glad to see you are all right.”

“I feel like hell, but I’m all right. How are you?”

“A bit sore. I’ll probably need to change my diet since losing some of my bowel, so if you haven’t decided to kill me yet, let me suggest it.” 

“Isn’t it a little soon to be cracking jokes?”

“Humor always has its place.”

Will could see every crack and scar on Hannibal’s face. He realized how much they had aged together. Six years had done much to both of them.

_I don’t find you that interesting._

_You will._

“You’ve been keeping Chiyoh here.”

Hannibal shook his head. “No, not keeping. She has been here of her own volition.”

“No one can stay away from you for long.”

“She wanted to be available. She helped put us back together again.”

“And she couldn’t interfere with my becoming.”

Hannibal closed his eyes. “Are you going to kill me, Will?” 

Will looked at the man before him. He tried to remember years ago when he was a twenty year old cop in Louisiana. He tried to remember his first kiss, his father passing away. He knew those had happened, but the images were gone. 

_Can’t live with him, can’t live without him._

“You’ve taken so much from me. You killed Abigail right in front of me, tried to have my family killed.” His voice broke. “I wish I had never met you. I used to be so good at pretending to be normal. I believed I was.”

Will’s eyes met Hannibal’s. They considered each other, reading noses, mouths, throats. Will watched the scar across Hannibal’s larynx move up and down as he swallowed.

“But I can’t kill you. I don’t know anything else anymore.”

“Do you feel liberated?”

Will glanced around the room. He noticed a crucifix hanging above their bed. 

“Do you really believe that God is looking out for us?”

“God looks out for all of his creations, in his own way. He has been quite good to me.”

“You must feel that this was your destiny, to find me and change me.”

Hannibal shifted to sit directly across from Will on the bed. “I do. I swore to protect Mischa and I failed her horribly. When I met you, you were so lost and fragile. I knew that I had to protect you from the world, make you strong. I knew God was providing me an opportunity.”

“I’m not sure other people would see it that way.”

“You know as well as I do that I’m not like other people, and neither are you. You never were.” 

Will knew what he had to ask. If he was honest with himself, he had known for a long time. There would never be a better chance. Hannibal was injured and shaking off morphine drowsiness. Will had never been the stronger one before.

“You asked me if I feel liberated. I do. I don’t feel like I’m wearing a costume anymore. But I don’t think you feel free.”

Hannibal’s copper eyes flashed with surprise. “What is on your mind, Will?”

Will forced himself to look into Hannibal’s eyes. His heart thrummed wildly. The rushing in his head was so loud that he could barely hear his own voice. 

“Are you in love with me?”

Hannibal held his gaze. Will could see him biting the insides of his cheeks. 

The room became so quiet that they could hear Chiyoh’s footsteps resonating from the kitchen.

“What made you think to ask? I will know if you lie.” Hannibal’s voice was low and more sibilant than usual. His Eastern European accent harshly emphasized the _sk_ of ask. 

“Bedelia may have helped me reach that conclusion.”

Hannibal began removing the IV from his arm. He was so forceful it made Will wince. 

“You told her that, didn’t you, Hannibal?”

“So much for doctor-patient confidentiality.” Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed and prepared to stand. 

“I think doctor-patient confidentiality stops once you start sleeping with the doctor.”

Hannibal stood up abruptly and walked away from Will. “Sex is just sex, Will.”

“Are you in love me?” Will’s voice was louder than he expected. He hated how fearful it was. So lost and fragile. 

Hannibal turned his profile to Will. His hand rested on his bandaged wound.

The pause was tortuous.

“Yes, Will. I’m in love with you.”

Will’s stomach knotted. He was expecting that answer, but the words were still heavier than he could manage. He looked to the floor. “Don’t ask me if I’m in love with you.”

“I will never ask you that, Will.”

Favoring his left leg, Hannibal walked out of the room. His exit took several seconds. In the stillness of the room their breath exchanged sounds. Hannibal’s was raspy and laborious; Will’s taut and effortful. _Huuuhhh, ffff, huuuhhh, fff..._

Will placed his palms to his eyes and blinked away a few tears. Pain wrapped so tightly around his chest he could barely move.

The tears came relentlessly. One by one, they fell down his cheeks until his hands were wet.


	4. Last Supper

The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds and cast thin shifting shadows on the wall.

The sheets smelled of Hannibal, salty and herbal. Will tried to ignore it, but the scent was potent. Every now and then he thought of getting up. 

The door creaked open. Chiyoh stepped in, holding a glass of water and a shot of whiskey. “I thought you could use these.”

“Yes, desperately. Thank you.”

Chiyoh handed them to him. He took the shot first, then followed it with a large drink of water. The whiskey hit his stomach with a satisfying burn.

She was watching. Her eyes were black pools with no beginning or end. They gave Will chills.

“I know about you and Hannibal.”

Will sighed. “There’s nothing to talk about, if that’s what you’re here for.”

“You need to decide if you’re going to stay or go.”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

“His family took me in when I was very young. They gave me all they had. Now Hannibal and I are the only ones left.”

“Where is he?”

“In the kitchen. You should join him and eat.” 

Will used the wall to support himself. Chiyoh, unblinking, watched him reach the end of the hallway.

Hannibal sat at the petite dining room table. “Dinner is served. I did not have much here, just rice and sausage.”

“Pork sausage?”

Hannibal smirked. “I enjoy pork from time to time, if you can believe it.”

Will made himself a plate and sat across from Hannibal. “Where is the body?” 

“Chiyoh rolled it into the ocean. Will you return home?”

Will took a bite. The warm food hit his empty stomach and sent a surge of comfort throughout his body.

“No.”

The word surprised him. He didn’t remember saying it.

Hannibal stopped eating. “So you will join me, then?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

Will glanced down at an empty plate. He didn’t remember taking his last bite.

“I have heard that before. You have always had a choice, Will. You didn’t have to return to me for therapy or find me in Florence. You didn’t have to join the Dragon case. You chose to. You wanted to see what would happen, then let your guilt convince you of helplessness.” 

Each word Hannibal spoke landed like a fresh ember on Will’s skin. 

_Choice...return...wanted...guilt._

“Molly and Walter are better off without me.” 

Hannibal nodded. “Better off believing you died a heroic death.”

Will looked at Hannibal. “So what do we do next?”

“I have a few ideas in mind. South America would be safest, I think, and will be lovely in the upcoming months.”

Will stood up and took his plate to the sink. “Where’s the whiskey?”

Hannibal pointed to a cabinet by the fridge. Will opened it and saw a bottle of Sazerac. It looked like bliss. 

Holding the neck tighter than he had held anything in his life, Will left Hannibal alone at the table.


	5. Decaf and Whiskey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief scene of self-mutilation; strong language

_“I love you only because it's you the one I love;_  
I hate you deeply, and hating you  
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you  
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.”--Pablo Neruda, Sonnet LXVI 

The shapes on the television were starting to blur together. Two hours ago Will began playing the SVU drinking game. Several rye shots later, he was feeling loose and warm. The world was fading. Maybe soon he would be numb. 

_I don’t find you that interesting._

_You will._

The memory kept resurfacing, crawling out from under his skin.

***

He had been dating Molly for a few weeks. They were curled up on his floor by the fire, each stroking a dog. “There is something you should know about me.”

She sipped wine from her glass. “Let me guess, you’re a serial killer.” 

A hesitation. 

She was contrite. “I’m sorry, you were trying to be sincere. It was a poor time for a joke.”

Will smiled. “No, I like your jokes. But you’re not wrong.”

He told her about becoming Hannibal Lecter’s patient, being set up for his crimes, tracking him down in Europe. He did not tell her about how close he became, how much blood he helped shed. He never mentioned Abigail. She cried and kissed him. They went to bed for the first time. 

She was the first woman he had touched since Margot. It felt so good to be holding someone again, to feel fingertips against his flesh.

But this was strange. When he reached for Molly, she seemed to disappear into a thousand particles. He could not feel her skin, nor taste her. He tried to focus on her naked body, her beautiful body, but all he could see was the stag, bleeding out and struggling to stand. When she touched him, he felt Hannibal’s hands on his shoulders. He heard his voice in his head. Commenting, narrating. _I wanted to surprise you._

“Molly, I...I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

He turned away from her. A tall, amorphous shadow stared at him through the doorway. _I let you know me, see me._

“It’s alright, baby. It’s perfectly normal to be nervous.”

He wished he was only nervous.

***

There was a knock on the door. “Will?”

“Come in.”

Hannibal entered. Will did not turn to acknowledge him. Hannibal noted the whiskey next to the bottle of morphine. 

“You shouldn’t be mixing those, Will.”

Will waved his hand dismissively. “I took that morphine a while ago, it’s fine.” 

“Have you changed your dressings?”

Will tried to think through the depressants. It wasn’t working.

“I...I don’t remember.”

Hannibal shut off the television. “Let me see them.” 

He sat next to Will on the couch and peeled the bandage off his cheek. It was coated with blood. Serous fluid was seeping out between the stitches on his face. 

“Stay still.”

Hannibal walked away. Will heard drawers opening and closing. 

“I’m going to do a saline wash and put on new bandages.” 

A warm splash hit Will’s cheek. He felt a faraway, throbbing pain. He closed his eyes as a gauze pad was situated on his skin. 

“There we are. Now the chest. Lift up your arms.” 

Will extended his arms along the back of the couch as Hannibal began undressing him.

“How old were you when you first had sex?,” Will asked.

Hannibal stopped for a moment, licked his lips, and then resumed.

“Fourteen with a woman, eighteen with a man.”

“You’re such a European cliche.” The word _cliche_ slurred out of Will’s mouth. He was very drunk.

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen. Prom night.” 

Hannibal smiled. “You’re a cliche too.”

Will snickered. “Look at us. A couple of banal, totally normal men.”

He felt the faraway pain again, then a light pressure as Hannibal began taping the gauze. 

“When did you realize you were bisexual?”

“I’ve never labeled myself. I’m in love with life. I enjoy sex and interesting people just as I enjoy good food and wine, music and travel. Life is too mercurial for us not to savor every flavor it has to offer.” 

They sat quietly for a while. Branches scratched against the window. For a moment, Will wondered if he was dreaming.

“They will be coming this way soon. Tomorrow morning we should pack.”

“I don’t have anything to pack.”

“I have some clothes for you. They are...upgraded, of course.”

Will imagined Hannibal going to Brooks Brothers and guessing, undoubtedly correctly, his size. Coordinating wardrobes for their ex-pat family: linens for the summers, cashmere scarves for winter. It made him uneasy. 

“Will, are you feeling unwell?”

“Very. I’d like to be alone.”

Hannibal reached out for the morphine bottle and placed it in his pajama pants. “You won’t need anymore of these tonight.”

Will turned on the television and restarted his drinking game. He had to make up for lost time.

*** 

Hannibal glared into his cup of decaf coffee. It had grown cold throughout the evening. A cup of decaf had been part of his after dinner ritual since his twenties, but it wasn’t right tonight. 

He took the cup to the sink and rinsed it out. He then loosened his grip. The cup burst into several dozen ceramic pieces, each shard a different size then the next. He noticed a piece with a particularly sharp edge and picked it up. Having done this many times, he knew just the right pressure to apply. He dragged the edge across the top of his left wrist. A fat red bead appeared between the borders of his skin. He brought it to his lips and felt comforted. 

He heard the door to Will’s room open. He could smell him from the hall. Sea salt and malt. 

Will entered the kitchen, stumbling, brandishing a scalpel he must have found in the medical supplies. 

“You _ruined_ my life, you fucking son of a bitch. The past six years have been nothing but hell because of you.” 

Hannibal took a step forward. “Will--”

“I was fine before, you know? I wasn’t happy, I knew I was crazy, but I thought I was a good person. I thought I was trying to do the right thing. But then you, in your fucking suits and therapy, YOU _fucked_ with my head, you changed everything--,” Will raised the scalpel. 

Hannibal took another step forward. “You don’t want this, Will.”

“Stop fucking telling me what I want!” 

Chiyoh appeared around the corner. Hannibal locked eyes with her but did not motion to her. She nodded and retreated. 

Will began sobbing. “All I ever thought I wanted was a family. I do want a family. Abigail, Christ, Abigail. That was fucked up of you to do, to make me decide between the two of you and protecting other people from you, you fucking monster!”

Hannibal swiftly pushed himself into Will, pinning him against the wall, hand to wrist. Will whiteknuckled the scalpel.

“FUCK YOU. I wish I had never met you, I wish I had never kept meeting you, I wish you were dead. I want to kill you, I’m going to fucking KILL YOU.”

Will struggled against Hannibal’s grip. The sobs became incessant. He was choking on them. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

Will tried to jerk free. Despite his injury, Hannibal was still larger and in better shape. Will eased slightly and dropped the scalpel. Hannibal kicked it away before loosening his grip. He stood closely in front of Will with no intention of moving. 

“You are, understandably, very stressed. And you have had too much to drink. Go sleep it off.”

Will reached for Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal gave him a quick kick to the shin. Will tried a punch to the stomach, which Hannibal adeptly blocked. He shoved Will against the wall again. 

Hannibal placed his lips on Will’s. 

Will stopped sobbing. His fingers, hungry and furious, clasped the back of Hannibal’s head. Hannibal used his pelvis to pin Will further, relishing in the pain that radiated from his gunshot wound. His tongue searched for Will’s. Will bit his lip, hard. Hannibal growled and broke away. 

Will’s eyes were sorrowful and searching, just like they were the night he realized Hannibal was taking Abigail away. His curls were coated in perspiration. He breathed heavily.

A thin red line formed on Hannibal’s bottom lip. Between the alcohol and salt, he could taste the metal of blood. 

“Go to bed, Will.”


	6. Aflame

Sunlight struck Will’s face. His brain was on fire.

Every muscle felt torn and rigid, each vertebra tender and flaring. He struggled to touch his feet to the floor, not knowing which body part was moving at a time. He could not remember where he was or what happened. All he knew was that he was hungover, desperately nauseous, and feverish.

This had been the worst hangover since the morning after he buried his father. He was 22 and selfish and angry, and ended up waking in a motel room in a different city with a woman he didn’t know. It was then he began doubting his capacity for law enforcement.

His stomach hit the back of his throat as he stood. He dry heaved, took a step, and dry heaved again. As he surveyed the room, he saw no dogs. He was alone and wanted to die.

The floor seemed like a good place to be. 

He flattened himself against the smooth concrete, placing his cheek to it. The cool radiated throughout his body, sending waves of mild relief. Maybe he could freeze there and never leave.

He opened his eyes to see a pair of feet in gray wool socks. He realized he had fallen asleep, though he had no clue for how long.

“You look miserable. I’ll help you to the kitchen. There are eggs, coffee, and as much ice water as you need.”

Last night started to assemble out of the remaining pieces in his memory. He remembered his hands diving into a drawer of surgical tape and Kelly clamps. He remembered feeling triumphant when his fingertips brushed against a scalpel. 

“If you feel unsteady, I’ll catch you.”

Using all the strength he could manage, Will pushed himself off the ground and stood. He stumbled and caught himself on Hannibal’s shoulder. 

Will looked up. It was when he saw the scab on Hannibal’s lip that he recalled what had happened. 

Hannibal bent down and placed Will’s arm over his shoulders. “We need to start making motions, Will. Every minute spent here is lost.”

They walked into the kitchen. Chiyoh was sitting on the counter, sipping coffee over a pair of large duffel bags. 

Hannibal made Will a plate of food while Chiyoh watched, serene and eerie as ever.

They started speaking together in the odd, “shush”-heavy language that Will recognized as Lithuanian. It troubled him. He could see Chiyoh’s eyes grow large, her lips tighten. Hannibal seemed to end his sentences sharply. 

Chiyoh must have known everything. 

Hannibal sat across from Will as he ate. “Chiyoh has been kind enough to pack our belongings. Out of necessity, we do not have much. Clean clothes, some cherished books of mine, medication, documents...”

“Where do you plan on going, and how?”

“Mexico, Brazil. We’ll see where the road takes us.”

“Driving? You truly are insane. Every law enforcement agency in the nation is after you.”

“America is a big country with a short attention span.”

“You will be killed, either on sight or on death row.”

“You know that death does not scare me.”

 _It scares me._

They were tense. Chiyoh went to the living room and swung a backpack over her shoulders.

“There is nothing left to do.” She was a mother, pushing her kids out the door.

Hannibal watched Chiyoh gather items from the living room. Will gazed at the side of Hannibal’s face. His hospital haircut left little need for grooming; his blonde bangs grazed the top of his forehead. Will thought he looked handsome, and hated himself for the thought.

Hannibal met Will’s eyes. He smiled, exposing his pointed canines. 

“We just need to do some quick grooming.”

Will followed Hannibal to the main bathroom. Hannibal opened the doors under the sink and pulled out clippers. Will leaned against the doorframe and watched him. He heard doors opening and closing from the front of the house.

Hannibal turned on the clippers and, without hesitation, ran it along his scalp. Blonde and silver strands fell to the floor. In only a few minutes, he wore a buzzcut. With a close cut and his pale eyebrows, he seemed ethereal. A vampire from the tsarist days.

He turned to Will and raised the clippers. “Your turn.”

Will watched in the mirror. Hannibal steadied his left hand on Will’s shoulder. Will saw his black curls tumble and bounce from his shoulders to the floor. 

“You are so beautiful.”

“You tried to cut my head open once.”

“You tried to have me killed.”

Will smiled despite himself. 

Hannibal finished. Will’s hair was not as short as Hannibal’s, but it was shorter than it had been since he left the police force.

Hannibal moved on to Will’s face. He removed Will’s dressing first, then cleaned around the stitches. “I’ll take those out in two days.”

He sprayed shaving cream into his palms and gently spread it along Will’s cheeks and jaw. Will closed his eyes. He focused on Hannibal’s fingertips, cool and firm, moving in circles on his skin.

The razor was close. He felt it pull away from his skin. The process repeated. Hannibal’s steady breath brushed against his face.

“Smooth as polished marble.”

Will opened his eyes. A version of himself was staring back at him. He was renewed.

Hannibal squeezed his shoulder. “Shall we go?”

***

They carried the duffel bags outside. Will was not prepared for what he saw. The concrete was extremely stained. An enormous red pool marked where Dolarhyde had fallen. Will could make out his own footprints. Chills erupted along his nape.

The patrol car was replaced by a white Prius. Will raised a brow. “Where…?”

“In the woods,” Chiyoh answered.

She opened the back of the car and they placed their bags inside. 

“Is it done, Chiyoh?,” Hannibal called out.

“Yes.”

Hannibal walked back towards the house. Will stayed behind with Chiyoh and watched him go.

“Where will you go?”

Chiyoh crossed her arms. “A Russian businessman has tried to buy the estate from us a few times. We’re going to accept and split the money. After that, I might go to France, or Italy.”

“Not Japan?”

“No. There is nothing for me there.”

Hannibal threw a match at the surface of the house. Flames erupted and spread to the roof.

Will inhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ.”

Hannibal turned back with a dancer’s grace.

“I’ll drive.”


	7. Allez

They said goodbye to Chiyoh at a bus station in Virginia.

Few words were said. Will wished her a good flight and luck in the future. He thought about hugging her, then decided against it.

Hannibal did hug her. They exchanged words in Lithuanian. Chiyoh made eye contact with Will, then immediately turned to Hannibal and spoke quickly. Hannibal shook his head and kissed her forehead.

She looked back at them before entering the station. Her glance at Will was unwavering. 

Now in the passenger’s seat, Will placed his forehead against the window. The cool glass distracted him. He watched the white line of the road race by.

“She doesn’t trust me with you.” 

“She doesn’t trust me with you, either.” 

“Does she think I’m going to kill you?”

Hannibal cleared his throat. “She thinks I will be reckless, because you distract me.”

Will kept his eyes to the asphalt. “I’ve distracted you for a long time.”

“Exactly.”

Over two hours, Will learned what had happened. Hannibal had accumulated a number of aliases over the years as he moved around. One alias, Jakob Kaczmarek, owned the house in the woods and the car they were driving. Hannibal’s forensic work allowed him to develop connections for papers he couldn’t convincingly create himself.

It bothered Will that he did not know this before.

The road expanded before them, gray and infinite. After five hours Will took the wheel. Hannibal briefly dozed as the high afternoon sun came in through the window. They stopped only to make use of the roadside. They ate what Chiyoh had packed for them--granola, dried fruit, sandwiches of salami and brie.

Will drove longer than Hannibal did. Hannibal was deeply committed to his circadian rhythm and only broke it if hunting was scheduled. Will was accustomed to a more erratic sleep cycle. It did not do him well, but he was used to it.

In twelve hours of driving they spoke little, and they certainly did not speak of each other. Hannibal read aloud from _Moby Dick_ , a book they both agreed upon. They listened to chamber music when a station could be found.

A short distance outside of Birmingham, Alabama, they decided to rest. Will pulled into the parking lot of a modest motel.

“It might draw less attention if only one of us gets the room.”

Hannibal nodded. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

The manager was an older woman, in her sixties by Will’s estimation. She smoked a Winston while he signed paperwork stating he would be liable for damages, including cigarette smoke. He used the alias Hannibal had prepared for him.

Will was prepared to explain that he was on a road trip to a wedding. He had no need for it, however, as she had little interest in speaking with him.

It was a small motel with two single-level wings that opened to the parking lot. Hannibal left the car and followed Will through the door. 

The room was musty. Hannibal frowned. “I can still smell the last couple who were in here.”

“Which bed is cleaner?”

Hannibal moved his head side to side slightly, like a cobra poising to strike. “The one closest to the door.”

“I can take the dirty bed. Lord knows I’ve slept in worst.”

“I as well.”

They brought in what bags they had. It occurred to Will that he had not seen the clothes selected for him, but he little energy left to care. He wanted a drink, badly.

“We should’ve stopped for more supplies.”

“Alcohol, you mean?” Hannibal shot Will the smirk that had become his trademark. One side of his mouth curled high, brown eyes knowing. It was the face he wore for all press photos. Journalists commented on how smug he looked, how vain. _Look at this monster._

Will’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment, but only for a brief moment. Compared to all the sinful things he had done, his creeping alcoholism seemed downright benign. “Yes. We should have picked up some booze. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep without it.”

They went about their individual bedtime routines without much discussion. Will washed his face in the sink and brushed his teeth. He rarely flossed, despite knowing better, and was not about to do it tonight. He gingerly removed the bandage over his cheek and inspected the stitches. After taking a morphine pill, he changed the dressings on his chest. For the first time since their battle with the Dragon, Will was in awe of his body’s healing, and felt grateful for living. 

Hannibal changed into his pajamas. Will caught sight of him and watched in his periphery. Hannibal’s shirtless abdomen displayed a wide array of injuries. Shallow cuts, bruises that were a vivid purple. He moved his body, careful not to stretch his stitched lower abdomen. Eyes closed, he rolled his neck over one shoulder, then the other. He brought one heel to his buttock and grasped it with hands interlaced. He repeated the move on the other side, groaning softly. His skin stretched taut over muscle. Will saw remnants of the ballet dancer he had been in his youth.

Suddenly Hannibal opened his eyes and caught Will’s gaze. Startled, Will turned his head away. His mind raced with thoughts that shamed and frightened him. 

Will took the dirty bed. He himself could not smell anything. Hannibal read for a while, glasses at the end of his nose. Will desperately avoided eye contact.

“Goodnight, Will.” Hannibal turned off his bedside light. The room filled with the profound darkness of Southern night. Crickets began their evening songs.

Behind Will’s eyes, Bedelia appeared, her lips pink and silky. 

_But do you ache for him?_

_I wish he were dead._

_Ill will comes from passion. Your anger is only matched by your fascination. Do you dream of him? Do you feel the pang of heartbreak?_

_I...I’ve never stopped thinking about him._

Will got up and fumbled his way to the bathroom. After turning on the light, he reached for the orange bottle on the counter. Hands slightly trembling, he fought with the cap. He tipped the bottle over, catching a pill in his other hand. He swallowed it hurriedly. _Please, God, just let me sleep._

Sleep did come. He felt his extremities grow warm and lax first. The feeling migrated from his limbs to his core. Finally, his thoughts slowed and his chest grew heavy. 

He wanted someone next to him. He wanted to feel touch. Wrapping his arms around himself, he allowed sleep to take him somewhere else.


	8. What You Wanted

_Buenos Aires  
January 2019_

Will sipped his Fernet and Coke. He hated the drink at first, which tasted like cough syrup on his all-American taste buds. He still didn’t enjoy it, but it forced him to go slowly and saved him from hangovers. 

A woman sat next to him at the bar. She was attractive, with dark brown hair that tumbled in waves down her shoulders and brown eyes that were freckled with gold. Her makeup was heavy for daytime, but her long yellow dress was modest. Will guessed from the lines around her eyes that she was in her forties. 

“Hola,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Hola.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “American?”

“I guess my accent really is terrible.”

She laughed. “The important thing is that you try.”

Will looked at her from the corner of his eye. She seemed too tipsy to be an informant, but he could not risk it.

She wrapped a strand of hair around her fingers. “What is your name?”

“Jonathan.” 

“Jonatan.” Her tongue skipped over the -th sound. “What brings you to Buenos Aires?”

Will took another sip and shrugged. “Travel.”

The bartender did his rounds. She ordered a glass of Malbec. “My name is Francesca.” When she spoke, she purred.

“Hi, Francesca.”

She laughed again. “You are strange. So quiet.” She reached out for his arm. 

Will watched her catch sight of his ring.

She pulled back swiftly. Her bronze cheeks developed a pink undertone. “Oh, you are married. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see before.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They drank together for a while, sipping and chatting between moments of silence. As she grew more unsteady, Will grew more sure that she was only a lonely woman.

“How long have you been married?”

He paused. 

“Only a few months.”

She smiled. “Ah! The honeymoon phase! How beautiful.”

“I knew him a long time before we got married.”

Her eyes showed a moment of confusion, then understanding. There was no gleam of excitement, no notice of recognition. She was no informant.

She blushed again. “I really have been wasting your time.”

Will smiled. “Not at all. It’s been nice to talk to someone.”

“Forgive me if I offend, but I...I didn’t think you were the type.”

“Believe me, I didn’t think I was either.”

She laughed in the forceful manner of someone uncomfortable, then took a larger sip of wine.

“I was married, but we just divorced. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Will liked her. She was completely devoid of suspicion. 

“You’re being very pleasant. For what it’s worth, I was married before too.”

She smiled. “So there is hope for me?”

He finished his drink. “Of course.”

She played with the gold bracelets around her wrist. “Did you need to find out what you wanted?”

“You could say that.”

She nodded. “I married very young. We thought we were in love. We were not, but it took many years to see that.”

The melancholy way her accent rode every syllable made Will sad.

“Let me buy you another.”

“No! No, I’m too drunk and getting too serious. Tell me about your husband.”

It was the first time he heard the phrase your husband. It had an odd gravity to it. 

“He’s the strangest man in the world.”

He ordered another drink while she had water. They spoke for a while longer. It was refreshing to meet someone new. Hannibal, being the performer that he was, had already invited a few people for dinner. But Will found himself sticking to a script he wrote in his mind, trying to avoid relationships. Relationships were work.

Francesca was a fleeting connection. Tonight they would part ways and remember this as only a pleasant day at the bar. 

He felt a gaze on him, a gaze he could feel in a room filled with a thousand eyes. He turned towards the bar entrance.

Hannibal leaned on the door frame and shot him a quizzical look. Will realized he must have been at the bar for hours. It was dusk.

Hannibal wore black jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled. The jeans were slim cut, accentuating his long legs.

Francesca leaned over. “Is that your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Jonatan! He looks like an angel.”

“I’ll tell him you said that. It will make him happy.”

Will paid his tab and Francesca’s. They said their goodbyes with a kiss on each cheek. 

“I wish you all the best, Francesca.”

“You as well. Maybe one day I’ll find a man that beautiful.”

“I pray, for your sake, that you don’t.”


	9. Inseparable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content ahead.

_August 2018_

_“Cupboard is empty, we really need food  
Summer is winter and you always knew.”--Little Things, Bush_

They started their morning around the little coffee machine in their room.

Hannibal had already done yoga, taken a shower, and dressed by the time Will stirred. Will, with his much shorter list of needs, joined him for coffee right after waking. 

“How did you sleep?”

“Well,” Will lied. “You?”

“Not as well as I would have liked. I kept waking to the sound of crashing water.”

Will sipped from his cup. “A little post-traumatic stress?”

“I think so. I thought I had lost you.”

Hannibal was inclined to these glimpses of sentimentality, these moments of wanting for connection. He placed the emotional bait and begged for someone to say "I love you."

Will looked into the cream swirling around the center of his coffee. His mouth was dry.

“I didn’t try to kill you, really. I tried to kill us.”

Hannibal reached out for his hand. Will watched pale green veins move across the metacarpals as Hannibal gripped. His hand seemed miniature inside of Hannibal’s claw. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing the scent of coffee and Hannibal’s Yves Saint Laurent aftershave to travel through his lungs.

“We are conjoined, as you once said.”

With eyes still closed, Will nodded, “Inseparable.”

Will felt Hannibal’s hand slip away. When he opened his eyes, Hannibal was placing clothes in a duffel bag. 

Will paid the bill with cash. The same woman with the cigarette was at the front desk. He thanked her and she nodded. He grabbed some snacks from the parking lot vending machine.

Hannibal drove first. With one hand, he pulled pieces of strawberry Poptart from its sleeve. 

Will smiled at him. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Hannibal shrugged. “I’m not happy about it, but what choice do we have?”

They continued on. From Birmingham to Corpus Christi, the road unfurled. Rolling green hills gave way to thick air and forests. At a gas station Will purchased food for them; he had a less distinctive face, and his shave altered his appearance noticeably. Southerners were by nature wary of outsiders, but no eyes lingered on him for too long.

As they barreled through Mississippi and Louisiana, Will felt nothing. He tried to. He called to mind his father’s voice, his Lieutenant's face. He could pick up fragments, but they refused to be assembled. He felt no nostalgic pangs. He only felt the desire to keep moving. 

Will took over before the plains gave way to shoreline. The wide sky adopted several shades of violet, with the clouds glowing a brilliant orange. Having lived on the East Coast for so long, Will forgot the splendor of expansive sunsets. 

Hannibal was mesmerized. He traced the clouds’ outlines on the passenger side window and allowed tears to form along his lashes. “How could anyone, when confronted with this, deny the existence of God?”

They stopped for a room in Robstown, Texas. Once the door closed behind them, they engaged in the dance of weary travelers: arms stretched overhead, knuckles cracked, yawns exchanged. 

Will realized that this night might be their last in the United States. He looked to Hannibal’s profile. The sole source of lighting was a sconce above the beds, which cast chiaroscuro shadows across the room. The light cascaded from Hannibal’s extraordinary cheekbones and highlighted his cupid’s bow. 

_I could kill him still_ , Will thought, _I could kill him and turn around. It’s not too late._

In his mind’s eye, he saw Molly’s lily white skin between the gaps of his fingers. Before him, Hannibal’s face was enveloped by shadows. 

“Hannibal.”

Hannibal turned towards him. The light bounced off the sterling hair fibers along his scalp. He watched Will’s face pensively. Will did not retreat from his eyes.

“...Yes, Will?”

Will’s eyes, glistening and blue, inspected every inch of Hannibal’s body. His fine hair, deep set eyes, straight shoulders, narrow hips. He was a shadow unto himself. Phantasmagoric, yet somehow permanent.

“It’s our last night in America.”

Hannibal nodded, wearing an expression of disappointment. “Yes, yes it is.”

“We should celebrate.”

Will walked to the Stripes store across the street and bought a bottle of Jack Daniels. He considered getting a bottle of wine for Hannibal, then decided against it. Hannibal’s palette was too discerning to ignore the drawbacks of an eight dollar bottle. 

“Rough night, bud?” The cashier was an older man with stained teeth and long gray hair. His eyes were sympathetic.

“Rough couple of years.”

“Man, don’t I know it.”

When he returned to the room, Hannibal was washing two tumblers in the sink. His maroon button-down was undone to the third button, revealing a glimpse of pale chest hair. They sat across from one another in front of the television. Will poured two fingers into each tumbler. 

Hannibal raised his glass, “To America, for all it has given us.”

Will raised his as well, “To home.”

They clinked and drank. Will’s body loosened at the familiar taste. His receptors were thirsty for alcohol. 

“My home will always the bench at the Uffizi, with you on one side and Abigail on the other.”

_Will you slip away with him?_

_Part of me will always want to._

Will ran his thumb along the rim of his glass, “I miss her. I miss her very much.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever cared about someone like that.”

Their eyes met. The scar on Hannibal’s neck bobbed like a float riding a wave. His eyes shined.

“I’m sorry, Will. I truly am. I loved her like a daughter, but there was no space for her in the course of events that unfolded.”

“You blame me for that.”

“No, not anymore.”

They each had another glass. Will felt his heart pound with a courage only brought on by bourbon. 

“You were in love with me. You wanted to raise Abigail as a couple.”

Hannibal leaned back in his chair, “You were aware.”

Will mimicked his motion, “Yes, I was.”

Hannibal placed his glass on the counter and conducted his evening routine. Will drank and read a tourist magazine on Corpus Christi several times before trying to sleep. 

Despite thorough fatigue, Will could not let sleep take over. His mind wandered from one doubt to another. Anxiety and desire battled for control of his attention.

Eventually he had enough of himself and sat up from the bed. His heart kicked his ribs with urgency. He stood and walked a few steps to Hannibal’s side of the room. In the limited light, he could see that Hannibal was facing away from him. He reached to place a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. 

“Yes?”

Will jerked back, holding his hand against his chest, “ _Goddamnit_ , don’t do that.”

“Still easy to spook, after all this time.”

Will turned on the light, “I can’t sleep.”

As Hannibal sat up, sheets fell away to expose his bare chest, “I take it you want to talk.”

“You were my psychiatrist, once. When can I get these stitches taken out?”

“Your facial sutures can be taken out tonight. I don’t believe that was your question.”

“Help me take them out.”

Will sat on the edge of the bathtub. Hannibal wiped down a small pair of surgical scissors with an alcohol swab. “I’m going to wash your face first.”

He caressed a warm, soapy washcloth down the length of Will’s injury. Will shivered at the sensation.

“I’m going to begin now. It shouldn’t cause pain, but tell me if it does.”

Tweezers in one hand and scissors in the other, Hannibal commenced his work. Will watched his hands out of the corner of his eye. To his surprise, there was the slightest shake as Hannibal tugged with the tweezers. An imperceptible shake to some, but not to Will. 

“Done. You sport a handsome scar now.”

Will went to the mirror. Indeed, a thick mauve scar appeared at the base of his cheekbone. 

“You were shaking.”

“There is a reason medical professionals do not treat their loved ones.”

Will stared at his reflection for a while. Very little hair, a new mark. He seemed somehow younger and more haggard.

“What did you want to discuss, Will?”

He continued looking into the mirror, “I’m...curious. About you.”

“I’m curious about you as well.”

Will shook his head, “No, it’s not the same thing.” 

He turned to face Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter: doctor, talented chef and artist, prolific serial killer. Hannibal Lecter: bruised, bandaged, and aging.

“You always knew where you were with me.”

Hannibal took a step forward. “That’s not the truth. I did not know immediately.”

“When, then?”

Another step forward. “When I testified at your trial. You were so tenacious, so righteous. You were willing to do anything to clear your name. And when I testified that you were my friend, I meant it, completely.”

“I was your plaything, until I gave you hell.”

“It was a beautiful thing to witness, until the end.”

They stood across from one another, backs erect, muscles rigid. Will squeezed his hands into fists, then released them. His heart beat so violently he thought it might stop. 

“I thought about you. I thought about you every night. I thought about you on my wedding day. I thought about you each time I had sex with Molly,” Will’s voice was hushed and strained. His lips quivered.

Hannibal parted his lips to speak, but Will continued, “I...I can’t pretend this isn’t happening anymore.”

_Do you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?_

Hannibal moved closer to Will, until they were mere inches apart. He cupped his palm around Will’s cheek. His fingertips brushed the back of Will’s ear. 

_I already have._

Will found Hannibal’s mouth on his, his hands on Hannibal’s back. The landscape under his fingertips was much like his own. Hard, smooth, and warm.

Hannibal’s tongue hungrily explored. It traced along Will’s tongue, the tips of his teeth, his bottom lip, his scar, his earlobe, his jawline, the length of his neck. Will felt himself melting into the man he held. He could not discern where he ended and Hannibal began. His skin was their skin.

They tumbled to the ground. Hannibal fixed Will beneath him. Will examined the body above; his fingers slid over every aperture and prominence. His mind told him something wasn’t right. His flesh told him to linger.

“I love you, I love you,” Hannibal whispered, barely audible. Will arched his back as Hannibal’s tongue traced between his legs.

_Can’t live without him._

He entered Hannibal there on the bathroom floor. It was a vital action. Relief spread throughout his nerves, from brain to bone. Hannibal reached back towards his hips for Will’s hand. He gripped it tightly enough to leave bloody half-moons in Will’s palm.

In years to come, Will would not remember the night in detail. He would only remember that it happened, and he had never felt more powerful.


	10. One, Two, Three

Will awoke to the familiar smell of alcohol and sex.

The room’s silence told him that he was alone. As he stood, his naked thighs quivered from overuse. It was then that he recalled Hannibal’s scent, his touch and the sensations they inspired. The night returned to him in flesh-colored glimpses. 

He noticed a piece of hotel stationary hanging over the coffee maker. He recognized the severely slanted and careful penmanship.

_My love,_

_I have gone to prepare the car for the most meaningful leg of our journey. I should return within the hour._

_Last night was...long awaited, and lovely. I hope you feel the same way._

_Hannibal_

Will set aside the letter and started the coffee. He went through the motions of his morning routine. He showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed his chest wound. The redness and swelling had gone down considerably. It was not even a week old.

He heard the door open. He had not considered what he would say when he saw Hannibal.

“Good morning.”

Will stood in the doorway between the bathroom and living room, “Good morning.”

Hannibal smiled. His mouth was framed by gray stubble. 

“We have food, and gas. Are you ready to say goodbye to America?”

He closed his eyes and nodded, “Yes, I am.”

Hannibal embraced him in his favorite manner: one hand behind Will’s head, bringing them forehead to forehead. Will was used to this touch. It felt no different after last night, leading Will to realize that perhaps it had never been just a friendly gesture.

They stood locked together for a minute. Their breath synced. Words raced through Will’s head; words of vacillation, words of sentiment. Each word pushed itself against his lips, desperate to be spoken. Nothing seemed worthy, and in the end he decided nothing needed to be said at all.

***

The line for the border patrol checkpoint was long.

Will could feel sweat beading in the lines along his palms. His pulse pressed against the wall of his carotid artery. _Lub, dub, lub, dub…_

“I can smell your anxiety, Will. You need to take deep breaths. Take yourself to the stream.”

He remembered when his father taught him how to shoot many, many years ago. 

_You’re afraid of the gun. You need to anticipate the recoil and ride with it. Don’t back away._

Even now, his heart raced when he wrapped his fingers around the grip. But when he felt that first kick of epinephrine, he knew to breathe. He would speak to his heart. Slow, slow. And, between the beat of his breath, he would press the trigger. His heart would lull.

The line inched forward. Will tapped on the gas.

He tried to picture the stream. The cool water rushing around his ankles, the sound of ice cracking as it melted with the height of the sun. He saw Abigail there and retreated from her image as quickly as he could.

“We’re doing this.”

Hannibal nodded, “Yes. This is not a dream, nor a hallucination.”

He lifted Will’s right hand from the steering wheel and placed it in his own. Fingers interlaced, they crawled to the beginning of the line. They separated before appearing in border patrol’s line of sight.

The agent looked like every law enforcement officer Will had ever seen. A man in his thirties, tall and white. Plain, but compelling by virtue of his position. 

“Are you gentlemen U.S. citizens?”

“Yes,” Will answered while handing him their passports. Hannibal’s alias had a Russian name; Will assumed it was to account for his accent. He now wondered if that was a terrible mistake.

“What brings you two to Mexico, business or pleasure?”

“Pleasure. Friend’s wedding.”

Will watched the agent’s eyes move back and forth as he glanced at their fake names, fake birthdays, fake places of birth. Another agent walked past their car with a large and focused German Shepherd. 

“Alright. You two have a good day.”

“You too, thank you.”

Documents back in hand, Will thought he might vomit. 

He drove forward. A few miles away from the checkpoint, he burst into tears. Every muscle shook violently. He felt like a plastic Halloween skeleton, screaming and rattling at every motion.

“Pull over, Will.” 

He did not have the energy to be embarrassed. After he changed seats with Hannibal, he let himself collapse into hysterics. He cried until his ribs hurt.

He looked to Hannibal.

“You’re still wearing that.”

Hannibal had worn a tan baseball cap and reflective sunglasses going through the checkpoint. Will was certain he would remove them once safely past the border.

“You look fucking ridiculous.”

They both laughed. With one hand, Hannibal took off the hat and glasses and tossed them over his shoulder. 

“You do realize you will never say that to me again.” He smiled at Will, truly smiled. He had given sarcastic smirks, playful grins, approving chuckles. But now he smiled with cheeks lifted high, teeth exposed, eyes crinkled. 

And when the sunlight reached in through the windshield, Will noticed Hannibal’s eyes were coated with tears.


	11. The Abyss Also Gazes

_“Lykaon brought a human baby to the altar of Zeus, and sacrificed it, pouring out its blood upon the altar, and according to the legend immediately after the sacrifice he was changed from a man to a wolf...It is said that ever since the time of Lykaon a man has changed into a wolf at the sacrifice to Zeus, but that the change is not for life; if, when he is a wolf, he abstains from human flesh, after nine years he becomes a man again, but if he tastes human flesh he remains a beast forever.”--Decription of Greece, Pausanias_

_Yucatan, Mexico_

Hannibal had told him many times not to do it. No good can come from it.

Will knew that. After purchasing his laptop at a nearby market, he managed an evening without it. His fingertips would hover above the keys, but he would not let them drop. He talked back to the urges.

But in the morning, the temptation was too mighty. In the Google search bar were the words "Will Graham."

HANNIBAL THE CANNIBAL AND NOTORIOUS FBI PROFILER PRESUMED DEAD

“MURDER HUSBANDS” DEAD?

TOOTH FAIRY BODY FOUND

There was only one headline he was interested in:

MURDER HUSBANDS ON SICK HONEYMOON 

_Tattle Crime._

Will grit his teeth as he read every word. 

_“The man I married hated Hannibal Lecter,” said Molly Graham in her press release._

_But how well did anyone know Will Graham, really?_

_I knew Will Graham. He and I worked together on several occasions. I was the constant subject of his ire. He made no pretense of stability around me._

_I can say, with absolute certainty, that Will Graham is a sadist, and he loves only one thing in this world: Dr. Hannibal Lecter._

Anger burned up from his stomach to the back of his throat.

_These two are not dead. They are alive and well and, undoubtedly, together. Free from the chains of society, God only knows what twisted move they are concocting next._

Will slammed the computer shut and placed his head in his hands.

_Fucking Freddie Lounds. I should’ve killed her when I had the chance._

The thought ran white hot along Will’s spine. A thought that was once forbidden now freely entered his blood. He believed that, if he had the opportunity, it would be realized.

She was a terrible person and a pest. Her worst offense, of course, was being right.

He left the hotel room for the blaring sun of Mexican summer. He had always preferred the anonymity of night, but the sun soothed his aching muscles. He walked and walked.

He hoped Molly would remarry. They say third time’s the charm. 

Most of his time was spent reading. He practiced Spanish by annotating in the margins. When he wasn’t reading, he tried to sleep. If he didn’t keep his mind engaged, he would think. 

He didn’t want to think. It was easier to go with what he felt, and what he felt was heavy, and electrifying.

After ten minutes, he could smell the brine of the sea. To some people, the scent of childhood was their mother’s perfume or bacon crisping in a pan. To Will, it was salt water. 

He walked to the shore. Removing his shoes and socks, he entered the water. It was chilly, but Will welcomed the water’s embrace. It was a hug from a loved relative. 

He stood overlooking the sea for some time. The blue expanse haunted and captivated him as it always had. Even in its current stillness it was dangerous; it was deep and strong and full of animals that could kill a man. It was capricious and whimsical. Yet Will loved it, not in spite of these qualities, but because of them. 

He never wanted to leave the sea.

After a few hours, he returned to their room. He purposefully did not look towards the laptop. The walk had failed to completely calm him, and he was afraid of what he might do if he read any further.

He saw Hannibal’s silhouette on the balcony. A lean figure with legs crossed, a glass of wine in right hand, completely placid. Will’s breath left him. He had seen this image many times, but it never carried so much weight. Here was something he would be seeing for the rest of his life.

Will decided to join him.

“You couldn’t resist, could you?”

Will sat in the empty wicker chair to Hannibal’s right. 

“...No, no. I couldn’t resist.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Raw as hell. Have you read any of it?”

“I do not have much use for _Tattle Crime_ these days. Let’s go out tonight, take your mind off it.”

Will raised a brow, “Out? Out, like in public?”

“Like in public.”

In a bar down the street, El Bufete, they grabbed a table in the back. It was packed with blonde and tanned tourists who laughed too loudly and spilled drinks on one another. They made Will nervous. 

“Will, relax.”

Hannibal bought them each an old fashioned. They watched a couple of college-aged women dance and shout incoherently.

“What were you doing when you were their age?”

Will shrugged, “Taking classes at community college, here and there. Applying to police forces around the country. I’m sure you were dancing ballet and studying surgery and gallivanting around Europe with a girl in every country.”

Hannibal laughed, “Yes, that about covers it.”

The two women grabbed hold of one another as the music slowed. Both had long, platinum hair and wore sheer black dresses that accentuated their legs. When they swayed and laughed together, it was nearly impossible to differentiate them.

Will watched Hannibal watch them. He was letting his facial hair grow, and his scalp was covered in dark blonde fuzz. Hospital life had paled and thinned him. He evoked Victorian royalty. 

When their eyes locked, Hannibal extended a hand. Will looked at it for a while with knit brows before speaking. 

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“Of course.”

“No.”

“Oh Will, you are far too serious.”

Will clasped his hand. He weaved his fingers through the spaces between Hannibal’s. 

“One of us needs to be.”

“That’s true. I can be...imprudent.”

“You can be insane.” Will squeezed his knuckles against Hannibal’s. He remembered Hannibal cleaning his wounded hand so long ago. 

_Stay with me._

_Where else would I go?_

Tucked in the back of a dark bar, they were alone, together.

“Will you stop killing?”

Hannibal finished his drink.

“For a while, but I cannot say I will give it up entirely. Does that change anything?”

Will returned his gaze to the women. They were sitting at the bar now, each with a margarita. A handful of young men were gathered around them, almost frothing at the mouth. 

“No. It doesn’t change a thing.”


	12. Sacrament

_Rio de Janeiro  
October 2018_

_Will was running on all fours. A fawn tried to out maneuver him. She ducked under logs and leaped over fallen branches. With each obstacle, her reaction time slowed. He was eager. He could taste the blood._

_She tripped. He scrambled on top of her and grabbed hold of her throat with his teeth. She screamed and bucked. He shook his head vigorously until he heard that unmistakable crack. She went limp. Huge bubbles of blood burst in his mouth. He placed her on the ground and tore long shreds of muscle from her bone. The blood was plentiful and warm from the chase. It filled his belly. He chewed her vertebrae for the fatty marrow. He howled to his mate: I’ve killed her. We have food._

Will jerked awake. He placed his hands to his face. No blood.

He ran his tongue along his teeth. No fangs.

Only a nightmare. 

He took a deep breath and noticed an arm raise up along with his stomach. Hannibal was draped across him. 

He had never woken up before Hannibal before.

Strands of silver and pure white ran through his hair and beard. Will thought of their age difference. He knew nothing of Hannibal’s family. Did he take more after his father or his mother? Did Alzheimer’s run in his family? The thought of Hannibal growing old and dying disturbed Will, but he knew it was inevitable. Just as inevitable as his own death.

Will watched as Hannibal’s eyelids began to widen. Hannibal wore the dazed expression of someone stirring from a vivid dream. He looked towards Will, considered him for a moment, then smiled. “I dreamed that I was a child and had to fight a dragon to protect my village.”

“You dreamed about fighting the monster, I dreamed I was the monster.”

“You will never let go of being the monster.”

“It keeps me sane.”

“Does it?”

Hannibal cupped the side of Will’s face. “It is so strange to see you without stubble.”

“Stranger seeing you with it.”

He laughed softly. “I haven’t had facial hair in thirty years. But I consider this a new chapter. There would be no better time for experimenting.”

Now that the thought had occurred, Will couldn’t get it to leave. 

“Aside from what Chiyoh has told me, I don’t know anything about your family. You know all there is to know about me, but I know hardly anything about you.”

Hannibal pursed his lips, “You know me. You know my desires, my passions. This is who I am. Not where I was born.”

“Just tell me your parents’ names. Chiyoh didn’t even tell me that much.”

“Simonetta and Titus.” Will watched Hannibal’s larynx move up and down with great effort as he spoke the names. 

Will considered that no one knew of Hannibal’s childhood not because he was so secretive, but because it caused him great pain.

He ran his fingers through a silver patch in Hannibal’s hair. 

Hannibal rolled on top of Will with a sudden urgency. It scared him. Hannibal was so collected it was easy to forget he was prone to occasional outbursts of fervor.

“I want you. I want you and only you. I want all of you, and I want the world to see it.”

Will furrowed his brow. “You have me. You saw to that from the moment we met.”

“Marry me.”

A knot formed in Will’s throat. He laughed, not knowing what else to do.

“Yes, let’s get a real marriage license with our fake identities. Let’s host dinner parties and regale people with our fake romantic history. Let’s pretend that this is perfectly normal.”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. “This is normal. I love you. I want to be able to say that you are my husband without falsehood.”

Will knew that Hannibal wanted a life with him; a domestic life, a life of companionship, of family. Hannibal had proven over and over that it was all he desired, to the point of destroying alternatives. Will could deny him that, but it would be of no use. Hannibal would find a way. 

And, in truth, Will loved him. He had spent many hours and bottles of whiskey and sleepless nights battling it, hiding it. He even prayed to a god he didn’t believe in. _Please God, I have a family, take him out of my brain, I can’t do this anymore, I’m going crazy..._

“I’m in love with you. I can’t deny that anymore.”

Hannibal’s face grew more intense. Will thought he might writhe out of his skin.

“Marriage is a sacrament, Will. Two people devote themselves to one another before God, to love each other and only each other, just as Christ devoted himself to humanity’s salvation. I could live five hundred years and never meet someone I’d rather die or kill for. You have my life in your hands.”

Will had already killed for Hannibal.

He placed a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. The same shoulder he clutched the night he thought they would die together. 

“I’ll marry you.”

***

They married their second week in Buenos Aires. 

Will asked that they not have vows. They had said enough over the years.

The clerk was a woman in her fifties. She did not seem happy for them, but she did not seem to disapprove either. She signed her name under the the names of the parties: Daniel Wilkinson and Dmitri Sokolov. 

By the beach they exchanged simple gold bands.

When the ring slipped on Will’s finger, he felt right. Damaged and monstrous, but right.

They made love in the night. It felt like love. Desperate, amorous, primal. It lasted for hours. Will’s head was swimming. Hannibal was as much his as he was Hannibal’s. They entered each other’s skin, veins, cells. They were one. Equal.

Will smiled as he fell asleep. _I have you now._


	13. Epilogue

_January 2019_

“Hon, it’s connecting.”

Alana joined Margot in the living area of their hotel room. Margot’s laptop displayed Skype. Morgan’s face appeared in the frame.

His face lit up. “Hi, mommies!”

“Hi, sweetie!”

Morgan took after Alana. His dark hair reached his ears and his eyes shined bright blue. 

“Are you having a good time with Aunt Lisa?”, Alana asked.

“Yeah, we played Wii.” 

They spoke for a while, each party beaming at the other. Alana’s sister appeared behind Morgan and waived. It was time for Morgan to get ready for bed. He signed off.

Margot slid an arm around Alana’s shoulders, “Don’t you want another one, dear?”

Alana rolled her eyes, but her red lips parted in a smile.

“This is our first real vacation together, and you’re talking babies.”

“Baby. Not _babies._ ”

Alana tucked a wayward brown strand behind Margot’s ear.

***

The Teatro Colón was magnificent. The multi-windowed facade spoke to an European heritage, and its bricks took on a rose hue in direct sunlight. At night it was illuminated with a thousand opulent lights.

Margot did not particularly enjoy opera. She appreciated the opportunity to dress in her best shoes and jewels, but she had difficulty following the scenes. The screen told her when to feel surprised or somber, but she was not sure why she should feel that way.

Alana, the progeny of two professors, knew opera well. She could identify arias almost immediately. Margot was not convinced that Alana actually liked opera anymore than she did, but it was tradition. And Margot, determined to shake off her father’s anti-intellectualism, continued the tradition with her.

This evening’s production was at least familiar. Margot knew the story of Macbeth and loved it. She thought Lady Macbeth was unjustly condemned. 

The Teatro was filled. She and Alana, in their curled hair and glittering jackets, were noticeable in a sea of white hair. By the third act, Margot was drifting into sleepy boredom, and entertained herself by glancing around the room. The rows below were composed of one older person in black after another. She looked to the row above.

To her left she caught sight of a glossy black leather shoe. It was delicately crossed over the opposite calf. The legs were svelte, illusory. Yet Margot knew she had seen them several times before. 

She jerked her head away. Her heart banged against its cage. The muscles in her thighs twitched.

_You’re crazy._

But she couldn’t let it go.

Slowly, carefully, she lifted her gaze. Her eyes traveleed from the shoes to a double-breasted torso. She knew.

A figure shifted into view and caused her to jump. Curiosity trumped her fear, and she kept her gaze. 

Leaning forward, with elbows on knees, was Will Graham.

Margot turned and grabbed Alana’s hand. 

“We have to go,” her whisper was both quivering and harsh. Alana frowned.

“Margot--”

 _“Now.”_

Outside the main hall, Margot was sweating. Alana’s impatience gave way to concern.

“What is going on?”

“Dr. Lecter was in the row above us.”

Alana lowered her voice, “Are you sure? It was dark--”

Margot wrapped her hands around her wife’s biceps. Her nails dug into her skin. 

“Alana, listen to me. I sat across from him for years. I know.”

Alana nodded. She looked ill.

“Was Will with him?”

Margot looked into Alana’s eyes. Alana, who always tried to exude calm, was starting to cry. Margot’s next words had the potential to tear her apart.

“...I’m not sure, I didn’t see anything other than Lecter.”

Alana held Margot’s hand and began pulling her towards the door.

“I’ll call Jack.”

Along the dark street, they ran. They ran to their hotel, their heels clicking against pavement. They ran as Alana left a breathless voicemail for Jack. 

Under the Teatro ceiling, Hannibal Lecter uncrossed his legs. Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium and Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle mixed together in a delightful dance of spice and orange. Fiery and tender, like their respective owners. It was pleasant to be in their company again.

The scents dissipated as Lady Macbeth hysterically washed her hands. They had departed a while ago. He had no desire to chase after them.

They would live the rest of their lives in complete and utter fear. Every man in a crowded restaurant would look like him. Every airplane passenger, every one of their son’s teachers. They would triple check the alarm at night. For weeks they would be too nervous to go to the mailbox. 

That seemed sufficient.

He would not tell his husband, at least not yet. It would be too messy. Hannibal did not do well with messes. 

They would have to take a break from the opera for a while. That would be bearable. There was still much of Argentina to see. Bahía Blanca had long, white beaches. Will would like to fish there.

An unseasonable storm hit Buenos Aires in the late evening. The waves grew tall and crashed into the ground with resounding force. On nights like these, Will pulled a chair as close as he could to their window nearest the coast. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the song of the angry ocean.

Hannibal sketched him--head tilted to the window, Dulce curled around his feet. Though they could not see it from their apartment, Hannibal drew the water into the window view. A bit of artistic license to capture Will.

He wrote in the bottom right corner:

_Will, my love, captor of my life, owner of my heart._

_“Nothing of him that doth fade,  
But doth suffer a sea-change  
Into something rich and strange.”_


End file.
